


Small but mighty

by Shabby Abby (KJPearl)



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Cat Fero, Druids, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mouse Fero
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-02 22:17:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11518617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KJPearl/pseuds/Shabby%20Abby
Summary: A collection of the times Fero protected his friends.





	1. Hella

Hella was brooding, Fero could tell. The rhythm of it had become familiar since they left Nacre. She would stay in her room late, an abnormality for the warrior who rose with the sun. She would emerge just in time to eat lunch, then disappear for the afternoon. She spent that time, Fero had learnt since he first followed her, training herself with cruelty. 

On these days she did not go through the stretches and warmups she did during her regular dawn practices. Instead, she immediately threw herself into elaborate sword maneuvers, thrusting at unseen enemies viciously. The hot midday sun glinted off her heavy armour and her tight braid whipped with the sharp turns of her body. She would practice these sword dances for hours, until her brow shone with sweat and she began to stumble from exhaustion. The final step to this routine was a return to her room. But while Fero now regularly turned into a sparrow to keep an eye on her training,  he’d never followed her to her room. Out of respect for her privacy, he told himself. Or, more honestly, out of fear for what he would find there. He was frightened enough by the grim Hella he saw before him, full of self-hatred and regret — she thrust forward with a particularly loud yell, before twirling to stab behind herself — he didn’t want to know how it could get worse. And Fero was certain it would get worse, bad things always got worse in the evening. 

When Fero had first met Hella he’d been struck by the realization that before him stood someone who had never felt regret, and he’d worried about the foolish things she would do as a result. Later he had begun to worry about the dangerous things she would do. But now he watched a woman who had felt great regret, and been changed irreversibly by it. Killing Calhoun had broken a part of Hella she hadn’t even known existed. The reckless confidence she had used to survive throughout her life had betrayed her. It had been a mistake to let him get captured and it had been a mistake to kill him, Fero had seen this realisation hit Hella. But not before she had done it. Not until after it was too late. Hella didn’t think before she acted. She was a sword, trained to strike first and ask questions never. This was the philosophy she lived by and it tended to work — until it didn’t. 

Fero saw the signs of Hella weakening; her sword held lower, her hands shaking, her steps less sure. He looked at the long shadows the sun cast, it was reaching late afternoon. Hella tripped over her own feet and swore. That was how these sessions always ended. Hella cursing the body that limited her, that failed her. And when she eventually left her dark eyes would show no satisfaction with her work.

She spent some time trying to power through her exhaustion, but eventually gave in to the inevitable end. She lowered her sword and turned back towards the inn, foregoing any final stretches just as she had forgone the starting ones. Fero knew she would feel the pain in her muscles for some time, but that was the point of this punishment, he supposed. He followed her back to the inn, fluttering from tree to tree. It was when she entered the inn, head hanging low, that Fero made his decision. Hella was his friend, and he would not leave her alone to wallow. He flew up to her room and perched on the window, waiting for her to arrive.

He did not have to wait long. Within a few seconds, the door creaked open. Hella placed her sword carefully in the corner, and sank into her chair, resting her head in her hands. The gesture had always struck Fero as particularly sad, as though the weight of despair left your head too heavy for you neck to hold up. He stared at Hella a moment longer before he chirped out a greeting.

“Fero?” she asked, looking up.

He chirped again and flew over to land on her shoulder.

“You should leave,” she said, her voice hollow and emotionless. Fero rubbed his feathered body against her neck, trying to convey reassurance and support.

“Fine. Stay,” she muttered, running a finger gently down his back, “but I’m not gonna be very good company.”

Fero flew to her lap and transformed into a cat. A good animal for comforting, he knew from experience. He spread himself out across her lap. Hella reached down and began to gently pet him. Her fingers running through his fur felt glorious and Fero began to purr, soft and steady. He felt Hella’s breaths, still sharp and shallow from her exercise, begin to slow and match his own.

“I suppose there’s no point in trying to hide it from you. You’ve been watching me, haven’t you?” she said.

Fero nodded as well as any cat could.

“And you were there. In Nacre,” her fingers tightened, not quite painfully, in his fur. “Fero. I’m scared. What we did there- Everything was wrong. Even with Calhoun and Adelaide gone there’s undead. And I think it’s our fault.”

Hella began to cry, sobs that shook through her whole frame and left tears dripping onto his fur but made no sound. Fero didn’t know what he could do but nudge his head gently into her stomach. He was a cat, and even had he changed back into a Halfling, there were no words for this. He could not promise Hella that the way they had left Nacre was right or that they were not to blame for the undeath. All he could do was remind her that he was there. That he knew what she had done and why. That while he may not entirely understand it, she was his friend and he was there for her. 

Nacre had been bad for all three of them, it had divided them. Turned them against each other. For a while after they left, none of the three could bear to speak to each other. Hella was still coming to terms with what she had done, more angry than sad at that point. Lem was caught up in dreams of an ancient city, a library, and a baker. And Fero mourned Calhoun. They had become friends in the short time they'd known each other. Despite his lies about his identity, he had been a kind man and a good friend. Fero had been caught up in a sadness that turned into fury. Rage at Hella and her impulsivity, at Nacre and it’s absurd justice system. It had taken Hella’s slow descent into sorrow, once the vast and permanent repercussions of her mistake became more and more evident, for Fero to realise that perhaps he wasn’t the only one in mourning. As for Lem. Well, he had eventually returned his focus to the present, though Fero still felt something distant and strained in their friendship these days.

But here he was, in an inn room just outside Velas, Hella’s arms wrapped around him and her fingers petting him, trying to convince her through the simple presence of his tiny cat body that everything would, eventually, be okay.


	2. Adaire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains brief mentions of sexual harassment from Adaire's past.

Fero was wandering the halls of the inn, unable to sleep, when he heard it. A whispered curse from just down the hallway. Adaire’s familiar voice cut through the air. He tiptoed over silently, careful not to alert anyone who may be with her. However, instead of finding some large thug looming over her, he saw Adaire alone. She was kneeling outside of a door with her lock picks strewn around. Her furious concentration on the task was evident from the tense line of her back alone. Fero had seen Adaire pick locks enough the be familiar with her methods, which would vary wildly based on her mood. He remembered Adaire outside a safe with no time limit and a lock she had found so simple that she laughed at the sight of it. Adaire had easily pulled out a single pick and gotten to work with the serenity of a priestess. 

This was not that. The closest example he could think of was when they'd broken into the hideout of some Ordenan who had been kidnapping undead children to try and discover the source of the undead “curse”. Hella and Hadrian had been distracting the guy up front while the rest of them snuck around to the shed he was keeping them in. Adaire had cursed then too and thrown her tools in the floor before getting to work. It had taken long enough that Fero had started to worry, but she had eventually unlocked the door and they had rescued the kids. Fero wondered who could be behind this door, making Adaire as nervous as she had been back then.  

“Adaire,” he called out, “What's up?”

She looked up with a jump and let out an honest to gods squeak. 

“And don't tell me you got locked out of your room or whatever,” Fero continued, recognizing the keen gaze of someone formulating a lie, “because I know all our rooms are on the other side of the inn.”

“It's nothing really. Why don't you go back to sleep?” she said. 

“Um. Because it's clearly not nothing? And I need to know if I should prepare to, like, get in a fight. Or hide a body!”

“Shhhh,” she hissed, “you'll wake the whole building if you keep yelling like that.”

“Sorry. But is it, you know, a body?”

“No,” Adaire sounded affronted, “this toxin is non lethal.”

“Aha! But there is a toxin.”

“Yes. So can you leave me alone now?”

Fero looked at Adaire closely. Her hands grasped at the lock picks shakily and her knuckles were white. Fero wondered idly how long Adaire had practiced lying with every aspect of her voice. From her tone he might have assumed she was having casual dinner conversation. He wondered if she knew that her body betrayed her. But off course she did, she was a professional. Fero could easily recall of her lying with her body alone; the nervous, purse clutching posture she used when trying to draw out thieves at the market place, or the snooty nose-in-the-air manners she used around Rosemerrow politicians. Maybe it was just the exhaustion of a late night that destroyed her usually easy control. Or maybe it was something else, the same emotion that had her picking a strangers lock in the dead of the night. 

“I'm not stupid,” he settled on saying. 

“I- What?”

“You're lying to me. First off, obviously, because you’re trying to poison someone so what’s happening here is  _ clearly _ not nothing-”

“It’s a non-lethal toxin,” she interrupted.

“Same difference! You still wouldn’t do it for no reason. And also second of all you’re way too nervous. This is something  _ major _ .”

“Fine, you’ve caught me. This is something that’s important to me, and clearly not relevant to you, the party clown. Now can you leave?” Adaire spat out. Her words were cruel, too cruel to be accidental for someone who planned every sentence down to the detail like Adaire did.

“You won’t scare me off by being mean,” he told Adaire, “I’ve gone adventuring with Fantasmo before, I have a pretty thick skin. Now will you tell me what’s wrong? I can try to help.”

She snorted.

“Honest,” he said, “If someone did something bad enough to warrant you sneaking into their room at night with a ‘non-lethal toxin’ they deserve some roughing up. I’m a great rougher-upper.”

She raised an eyebrow disbelievingly and Fero transformed into a wolf then back to a halfling.

“You know there’s a reason I’m an adventurer, right? Like I have valuable skills and-” he cut himself off before this conversation could go somewhere Fero didn’t want to confront. “The point is we’re an adventuring party, we stand up for each other. So who’s this asshole and what did they do?”

“It’s this...man,” Adair’s voice didn’t shake, but there was something fragile to it, like glass. “I don’t even think he recognized me. But I recognized him, from back when I used to work at an inn for a while. Sort of like this one. He was a regular, used to bother the girls. Bother me. He would make sexual comments and touch us, you know pinch the ass of the girl serving his table, stuff like that. Never went far enough to get the law involved. But we hated him. And now here he is, right in front of me except for this damn lock.”

Adaire lifted her arms as if to hit the door, before she reconsidered, probably realizing that the noise of it would wake it's occupant. Fero hadn’t known Adaire used to work at an inn. In fact, he realized he had no idea where she had come from or any of what she did before she joined their party. Well, nothing except the map-making which he had figured was a front from the first time he saw Adaire pull out one of her vials which definitely didn’t contain ink. But he supposed anyone out throwing themselves into danger trying to save the world had some fucked up history. And most people's history involved cities and other people, not just years in the mountains forgetting the shape they were born in, their family’s faces and language itself in favour of animalistic simplicity.

“He sounds like a dick,” Fero said. “What’s the poison do?”

“Well, funny you should mention dicks...” Adaire smirked.

“No,” Fero gasped, eyes widening.

“Yeah, it’ll make him impotent. Or it would, if I could get him to ingest it, but this fucking lock is too good. What kind of inn has locks that can’t be picked by an amature?”

“I mean, I’d hope all of them.”

Adaire threw her head back and laughed, “Most inn locks can be picked by an idiot with a hair pin, Fero.”

“I sleep in those rooms,” Fero gaped, wondering how often he’d been close to being robbed or murdered in his sleep.

“You don’t bring your own locks?”

“No. Do you?”

“Yeah. A fair number of people do, this asshole included, or some with the skill or money use magic. I mean, Hella doesn't bother, but I think she’s just waiting for the day someone tries to break into her room.”

Fero could imagine. Hella had honed her senses to danger, and it was damn near impossible to sneak up on her. She’d probably have a sword to the poor suckers throat before they took two steps into her room.

“And besides,” Adaire continued, “don’t you sleep out in the woods a bunch?”

“Yeah, but it’s safe there. That’s in nature. I can set up traps or fly away if I need to. Plus if I’m out with you guys then we set up watches all night. I figured the reason we don’t do that in inns is because they’re safe,” though now that Fero thought about it he remembered that Rosemerrow's inns were definitely not safe. It was public knowledge that stuff left outside a locked trunk in an inn could be found at either Jerry or Roanna’s stalls in the market by the next week. He supposed he’d always assumed that was just one of Rosemerrow’s quirks. Inns got robbed there, but it was Rosemerrow so you knew exactly who robbed you. “Civilization sucks. People suck.”

“They certainly do,” Adaire’s eyes darted towards the door as she said it.

“But, you know, it sounds like your problem is just a matter of size.”

“What?”

“You need to be small and sneaky, then you could sneak your poison into his food, no need for breaking and entering.”

“Do you have a plan?” Adaire demanded, her frown and hands resting on her hips were surprisingly effective considering she was still on the floor.

“Well, you happen to have a friend who can be as quiet as a mouse,” Fero smiled at his own joke and gave Adaire an over-exaggerated wink.

“That could actually work,” she murmured.

“Hell yeah it’ll work, it’s my plan! I make great plans, ask anyone. Well, don’t ask Lem because he can’t admit when he’s wrong, but trust me, I make great plans. Now let’s clean up these picks and you can get back to your room. Give me the poison tomorrow and I promise after breakfast this asshole won’t be able to get it up again,” Fero knelt down and began to pick up some of the scattered tools. “That’s a good revenge, by the way. I don’t know if I mentioned but you’re very good at revenge. Remind me not to make you mad.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Fero noticed Adaire smiling as she too gathered her lock picks but decided not to comment. Once all evidence of their presence was cleared from the hall they walked back to their rooms in silence. As they reached Adaire’s room she turned to Fero, “Wait just a second.” 

She went in and emerged with a lock that could be attached on top of the one provided by the inn. She handed it to him with a smile, “Goodnight Fero.”

“Night,” Fero headed back to his own room, placed the extra lock on his door, and easily fell asleep.

The next morning when he woke he got dressed quickly and headed over to Adaire’s room. He knocked loudly on her door and waited. A few moments later the door opened slightly, revealing a sliver of Adaire’s face peering through.

“Are you in pajamas?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s early and I’ve been sleeping in a real bed. Why are you here so early?”

“Well, we both need to be down in the dining area early to make sure we catch this guy. So I figure, you go down for breakfast and I hide in your pocket as a mouse. You point him out when he orders and I sneak the poison in. Revenge accomplished!”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense. Come in,” she opened the door with a yawn and Fero entered, “Now turn around, I need to get dressed.”

Fero stood facing the wall for what felt like forever, listening the rustle of Adaire putting on her layers of petticoats, tying up corset and leather armor, and finally pulling on the outer dress which covered it all. It reminded him of his childhood in Rosemerrow, sharing the relatively small farmstead and a few bathrooms with all his cousins and sisters. Back then most of them had needed help with the ties along their backs. He remembered them taking turns to lace each other up, sometimes even roping him in when they were desperate. He supposed Adaire had been alone long enough she’d had to get used to doing it herself. He wondered when she’d learnt. Had she once had siblings who would help her reach the back laces? And if she had, were they even still alive? Did Adaire keep in touch with them? Fero had no idea. Adaire and her past were a complete mystery; that was how she liked it.

“You can turn around,” she said. Fero did, looking over her outfit. If he hadn’t seen her armour save her life before, he wouldn’t even know it was there. She seemed like an average city woman, neat dress with embroidery fancy enough to have been done by a proper seamstress but unambitious enough that it was easily affordable. She was quickly braiding and pinning her hair as she finally turned to him and handed over the vial, “Let’s do this.”

Fero carefully pet the vial down on the floor so it wouldn’t transform with him and turned into a mouse, then he picked it up and let Adaire gently lift him into her skirt pocket. It was large, and lay carefully along a seem, almost invisible if you didn’t know to look for it. He settled in for what was a fairly bumpy walk downstairs until he felt Adaire still and sit in one of the chairs.

“He’s not here yet,” she whispered as she leaned forward to arrange her skirts. Now it was time to wait. Fero felt one of Adare’s hands slip into the pocket and she began to rub her finger along his back. It was a nervous habit, he figured, just something to do with her hands, but it was nice. Fero made a mental note to turn into a cat more often, he hadn’t been pet enough recently. He let himself relax for a while as he waited for her signal.

“He’s here,” Adaire eventually hissed. She lifted him out of her pocket, keeping him concealed by a puffy white sleeve as she set him down on the table. “The human man sitting right in the middle at the bar, with the long black hair and fucking Elvish tattoo.”

Fero saw and nodded. The dude looked like a total slimeball, leaning over the bar into the personal space of a barmaid with the fakest smile Fero had ever seen pasted on. He wondered if the man even spoke Elvish. Fero strained his ears to hear the man speaking.

“...just have some toast, sweetheart.”

Mission poison the toast was a go. Fero wished for a moment that this was actual poison, but figured it was Adaire’s revenge and she knew best. Plus he didn’t really want to get tried for murder. He scurried quickly along the floor to the kitchen. He saw the barmaid pass the order along to a cook, along with some choice words about men who deserve to sleep out on the streets. It wasn’t hard to keep track of the toast since the cook literally spat on it after plating it. Fero, having never worked at an inn, had always wondered if that was rumour or something people actually did. He supposed he didn’t have room to judge since he was putting something a bit worse than spit into the food. 

The second the cook turned away, Fero ran over to the plate, yanked the cork out of the vial with his teeth, and emptied it onto the toast. Then he hurried back to Adaire.

“It’s done?” she asked.

A nod.

“You know, it’s nice to have you as a mouse. A lot less talking back.”

Fero gently nipped at her finger. He spoke back the perfect amount. If other people 

didn't appreciate him that was their own fault

“Really though, thank you, Fero. It means a lot that you’d do this for me,” she smiled and lifted him back into her pocket, where he curled up and decided to go to sleep. Waking up early for revenge missions was exhausting, he deserved a nap.


End file.
